


Luxuria

by alyssakay347



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Angst, Crack Epilogue, Erik Has Feelings, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, One Shot, Post-X-Men: Days of Future Past, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 08:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3603942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyssakay347/pseuds/alyssakay347
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events in Washington, life is tolerable for Erik. For a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luxuria

She was astoundingly beautiful: her black hair fell past her shoulders in long smooth waves; her face was as alluring as a landscape was picturesque; her body was perfect in every way a man could dream. In fact, she proved capable of shifting into many beautiful bodies. Erik told her he already knew of a gifted shapeshifter, but she didn’t accept dismissal so easily. 

“I don’t just shapeshift, Erik Lehnsherr," the woman said. Her voice was deeper than one might expect. "I know things.”

She knew his real name, at least. “And what is it you know?” Erik asked.

“I know exactly what a person wants in a body.”

Erik frowned. Already he was beginning to want her body thrown off the skyscraper’s roof for wasting his time. “There’s a name for that kind of job, isn't there?"

She only smirked at him and took a coy step forward. “There is, and I take it to a whole knew level, Mr. Lehnsherr. Actually, you could consider me an entrepreneur of sorts.”

“Why did my people recommend you?” Erik deadpanned. He agreed to interview a woman with a promising mutation, not a prostitute.

“It's not their fault; I'm hard to resist.”

Was this a joke? Erik couldn’t understand how anyone he worked with could have the nerve to play a prank like this on him.

The woman continued, “I don’t need to do research to find out what skin I should wear to get what I want, where I want, how I want. Call it a sixth sense. You should understand that, with your mutation.”

“So you would know what official to become to get past a security barrier? Know whose fingerprint to have to open a vault?”

She didn’t so much as blink. “Not quite. But I’ve found all that is unnecessary. What I can do has always been enough.”

Erik tried to summon patience, but a strange suspicion began to form in his mind. Anyone could tell she was attempting some kind of conversational manipulation, but was she complete amateur or an expert in disguise?

“When human and mutant needs aren’t met, like hunger, even the most civilized of people turn barbaric and the most tame turn savage. They lose control of themselves, and sometimes, even who they are. In my line of work, I’ve found a similar lack of control in people when their needs _are_ met, too.” She turned and walked over to the wide window overlooking Manhattan, Erik’s latest venue. “If they’re faced with overwhelming desire, they’ll bite off more than they can chew and sometimes even choke themselves. Like power, for example; power does a wonderful job destroying those who want it too much.” She gave a longing sigh. The gleam in her eyes made Erik uneasy.

“Power…” She snapped out of her reverie and focused on Erik. “Apologies for getting off track. I’m here because I can be of use to you. I’d like to be on your team.” She moved closer to Erik again, looking more like the businesswoman she claimed to be. “You’re going places, Erik Lehnsherr. Everyone who’s anyone knows it—not that you care, of course. I don’t know everything about you, but I know quite a bit.”

Erik’s posture shifted. He narrowed his eyes and asked, “Do you? I’m intrigued.” Mockery seeped through his words. “What can you possibly know about me? My unfortunate past? Or can you see the future?”

The woman smiled. The ice in Erik’s eyes was matched by the flames in her own. “Maybe a little bit of both. But mostly you as you are right now.”

The metal throughout the apartment’s spartan decor started to ring in Erik's head. “Get to the point. Beauty can be offset by lunacy, you know.”

“Oh, I haven’t found that to be strictly true. But my point, of course.”

She explained that the had the ability to know everyone’s strongest human sexual desires, and could embody them perfectly. She couldn’t replicate personalities so accurately, but apparently she knew every detail of what was most lusted after within one. “I can usually put together a pseudo-personality based on that knowledge, so I can fool someone with more than a physical form. Just a few of my many advantages over an ordinary shapeshifter.” She winked.

A scowl broke through Erik’s indifferent expression. “I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine a general’s wet-dream-come-to-life being allowed into military conferences.”

The woman tossed her hair back and laughed. Erik _could_ imagine many a man drooling over such a sight. “What’s supposed to stay in a room never _really_ stays in a room, Erik,” she said. “Including military conferences.”

He bristled at the casual use of his name. No one used it anymore as an unspoken rule. “You sleep with people to get information. Is that what you’re so long in getting at?”

“I want you to know that I’m the best in the world at what I do.” Her stare was uncanny. “Have you never slept with someone for information? Found it was easier than you thought?”

Much to Erik’s regret, he had. He knew he deserved worse than the black eye and trashed office Raven Darkholme gave him when she left him ten long years ago.

But he didn’t answer the woman, who now stood less than two feet from him.

“You know someone like me always comes in handy,” she said. “It’s no secret that you think humans are inferior, and I agree with you—despite the fact that the inferior and superior are equally helpless in the face of lust.”

Erik had a hunch about whose face that might be as he stared into the woman’s eyes, which were nearly as black as her hair. The fact that he wasn’t completely unthreatened by her made him say, “Yes, I’m sure your methods bring results to some degree with everyone.”

She looked at him expectantly. He just wanted her gone. “No need to provide references,” he said. “I doubt you’d ever get an objective one.” He took a deep breath and watched as the sun disappeared behind the endless maze of Manhattan high-rises. “I’ll give you a trial period, and we’ll see if you’re as useful as you advertise.”

She beamed and thanked him with convincing sincerity, but Erik knew flattery was just another part of her business.

“Call me Luxuria, Magneto,” she said on her way out. He was oddly relieved to hear her finally call him by his alias.

Only after she left did Erik remember she never said what she knew about him.

 

 

After three months of telling himself whatever she knew likely wouldn’t matter, Erik started believing it. Luxuria never again implied she had something to hold over him, and she never tested his boundaries. Trust was slow-forming, but forming all the same, and it was partly due to her commitment as his newest team member and partly due to her success at it. She had powers similar to his last shapeshifter, yet her personality contrasted Raven’s so sharply that he rarely compared the two women.

Erik’s Brotherhood was coming together well, but there was always a constant influx of work, missions, and tips that finding people who were both on his side _and_ useful for delegating work became increasingly urgent while remaining just as difficult as ever. Erik was forced to reevaluate the woman he had initially considered rather despicable.

If he asked her to get the X location of an anti-mutant gathering from Y corporate head or Z religious leader, she would return with the information in days. What would take one of Erik’s research teams weeks or months to uncover, she managed to find out in a quarter of the time. Erik wanted to be suspicious, but how she worked wasn’t exactly a mystery. Sometimes, she would describe her missions with the friends she had made in the Brotherhood in great detail. He never stuck around for those conversations—he never stuck around for _most_ conversations—but everyone else listened loyally. How the others accepted her so easily was no more a mystery; the general consensus was that she was the most beautiful person any of them had ever seen. Erik felt a little ashamed that his entire force seemed to be infatuated with one woman.

Luxuria explained to Erik how it was important to make the members of the Brotherhood feel like people as well as soldiers, and he eventually allowed her plan parties or whatever she thought would boost morale and motivation. He never attended any of them, of course, but it was obvious they had a positive influence. Both new members and old became more gung-ho about furthering the Brotherhood ambition. The number of anti-mutant rallies began to slowly shrink as the Brotherhood made it clear they were unacceptable. Mutant-testing organizations were more quickly eliminated, and those who backed them. They made more of an impact on society’s perspective of mutants than Erik had ever dared dream; they were now renown as a force to be reckoned with. 

But there was another powerful force that liked to get in his way. The X-Men were ignorant and too forgiving, but Erik also had to admit they had become stronger as well; he gave them credit for learning from their mistakes when they clashed with the Brotherhood. His Brotherhood learned, too, at Erik’s guidance—consisting of either powerful inspiration or terrifying reprimands—and fought back with no less strength than the enemy.

Though he only admitted it to himself, considering the X-Men as his enemy didn’t come naturally. He dealt too often with vile humans and twisted mutants to slot the colorful X-heroes in with them; he knew evil too well to delude himself into thinking it described them. And just as he knew evil too well, he knew his own greatest rival too well to think any X-man would ever get away with anything even remotely smelling of cruelty to mutant or humankind.

Sometimes he rather enjoyed seeing his followers take on Xavier’s students. If there was a convention proposing mutant-prejudice mandates, for example, Erik would tell his people to track down the source of the problem, make an example of the group if necessary, and shut down the convention by any means. Sometimes the X-Men showed up with their own mission to shut down the Brotherhood by any means. While the superior race hashed things out, the inferiors got an eyeful of the very mutants they sought to smother.

Who came out on top was often a toss up. Sometimes the Brotherhood did a quick and efficient job of decimating mutant-abusive prisons before the X-Men woke up in the morning. Sometimes the X-Men reached anti-mutant rallies before the Brotherhood had a chance to make a ruckus.

But just as the clashes weren’t always games of cops and robbers for the followers, the cause wasn’t always a fulfilling experience for the leaders. At first, Erik joined his Brothers to nearly every event. But so did Xavier, and when they showed at the same place with opposing goals, Erik felt more demoralized than he considered reasonable. He suspected the feeling was mutual.

Nevertheless, each time they crossed paths, formally or otherwise, Xavier looked less and less like the sorry soul he was during the sentinel debacle. But when they spoke—and it was always in the presence of others—their conversations never consisted of anything besides canned words taken straight from their honed ideologies. Xavier refused to speak to him outside of “work,” and Erik wouldn't seek him out anyway.

He couldn’t say exactly when or why he began to stay in the background of the Brotherhood, but he eventually hunkered down in the role of mastermind and let go of his reputation as field captain. Erik kept up with all news concerning anything mutant, which included the X-Men, and quickly found Xavier had more or less done the same. Their faces didn’t show in the papers as often, but their greatest followers’ faces did more than ever. And if his Brothers’ exposure made Erik proud, he knew Xavier would be framing each and every article that featured his own “children’s” accomplishments.

Soon enough, he and Xavier disappeared from the papers altogether. Erik had few regrets, but he never expected to feel so much disappointment over having no way to see Charles Xavier’s face as it was in present day.

 

 

When activity died down during the holiday season almost a year later, and everyone was away on vacation with family, with friends, or at clubs, Erik spent one night lounged on the bed of an expensive San Francisco hotel room. It was the hotel with the least holiday spirit, yet it was still decorated with more Christmas paraphernalia than his eyes could handle. It wasn’t that he resented Christmas; he just thought flashing lights, holiday-themed store sales, and fisherman Santas were painfully tacky.

He had gone to San Francisco to get away from the quiet. The noise he would normally avoid provided some comfort since he was alone and didn’t particularly want to be. Not a common situation for him, but one that happened more often than he liked. He paid for the hotel suite out of pocket as a splurge; on the job, he always took the cheapest place he could find. Even on one of the topmost floors, Erik could still hear the city bustle. It was exactly how he had been planned his holiday to be: relaxing, distracting, a little luxurious for once…

Erik got up and opened the wine refrigerator. He opened a bottle at random, not heeding the prices, and picked out a glass from the cabinet above. He returned to the bed and, without leaving, tuned the radio to something bearable and opened one of the room’s windows a few inches, letting in more sound. The room was dark except for the desk lamp. It was oddly peaceful in the midst of the chaos below.

The memory of the night he and Charles recruited Angel Salvadore surfaced in his mind. His current hotel room didn’t resemble the one they visited back then at all, but he was drinking wine at least.

The memory was uncomfortable, and he felt something like carsickness as the images of that night refused to subside. And carsickness: something Charles occasionally got when he read too much during the drives between recruits. Erik thought it was funny how Charles was always determined to keep reading anyway.

It felt like an eternity ago. The memories even felt foreign, as if they belonged to someone else entirely.

He took a long drink. Helpless to the resurgence of memories, Erik could see himself lounging on yet another hotel bed, but aiming a coin at a picture of his long dead nemesis.

Erik wondered if his past self would care that he would live so much longer than he planned. Would he appreciate or despise the man he was today?

Erik banged his skull on the headboard. Memories were the last thing he wanted to think about, should think about, _could_ think about without losing his composure. The wine bottle wasn’t quite empty, but Erik wanted something stronger. He slammed the window harder than he should have.

A tavern was easy to find, and he wasted no time choosing a drink. From where he sat at the bar, he could see most of the room: full of average women and average men and average levels of drunkenness.

He wondered what his members of the Brotherhood were doing. Were they flirting with people at bars like this one? Had they already taken people home? Erik felt ridiculous thinking such shallow thoughts, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help all of the interested looks he got, either. No one could recognize him as Magneto, at least; his face always stayed obscured in newspapers and on television.

A thought slipped in: should he take someone home? Erik didn’t look like a morose drunk yet, so he probably had the pick of the litter. But his stomach lurched at the idea of having sex with someone random. Eleven years ago he would have scoffed at any level of sexual reluctance, but now he was used to it. He had Luxuria to do the dirty work, anyway.

There were a couple of pretty women in the bar, some dressed up, some not, some with dates, some alone. But even when Erik _tried_ to feel something, he couldn’t. Even when he _knew_ a one night stand would do him some good, he couldn’t get himself to approach anyone.

Then he saw a man at the other end of the bar eye him. He wasn’t particularly attractive, but his hair was just long enough and his build just slight enough for Erik to escape back to his hotel not ten minutes later.

Or rather, he would have, if he hadn’t run into none other than Brotherhood VIP Luxuria in the hotel foyer. She had become a clear favorite in the past few months for her daring missions seducing some top dogs in Boston. Maybe Erik should have been wary about her influence over the group, but he was too busy being grateful that she took the spotlight off of him—a spotlight he had long grown sick of.

“Erik! How are you?”

Erik froze at his name. He realized she hadn’t called him that since the day he interviewed her. “Luxuria,” he said, nodding once.

She looked as beautiful as ever in a revealing violet dress, but her smile was more mischievous than usual. She came up to him, setting her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t look at me like that, we’re not on duty. I can call you by your real name.”

“And your real name?” Erik asked. For the hell of it.

“Luxuria is my name,” she said, her expression betraying nothing. “Want to chat?”

No, he did not. But Luxuria couldn’t be here by coincidence, and she didn’t take well to rejection. “Why are you here?” Erik asked instead. “Weren’t you planning to visit Barcelona?”

“I kept the trip short. The weather was unexpectedly awful. I just had the urge to spend a little of the holiday with someone other than my Brotherhood pals.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “What am I, then?”

She laughed. “You’re not anyone’s ‘pal,’ Erik. You know that.” She squeezed his shoulder. “Come on, let’s chat.” Erik sighed and decided there wasn’t anything better to do.

His room was still only lit by the desk lamp. The almost empty wine bottle still sat on the side table with the glass. Erik was torn between getting it out of his sight and drinking the rest.

Charles drank a lot on the plane. Erik tried to shake the memory.

The suite had two armchairs and a coffee table for them to use. Luxuria took a seat and Erik followed her lead. She crossed her legs and flipped her hair with such casual grace that Erik almost believed it wasn’t calculated.

“So,” she said. “What’s with the wine? It’s not like you to overindulge.”

Erik immediately wished he’d left her in the lobby. “It’s vacation. What else should I have done?”

“Well, you usually just skip vacation altogether, so that was my first surprise. Then you come back from somewhere smelling like whiskey, which I have never known you to drink.” She narrowed her eyes, but her smile was playful. “I came to California just to say hello, but now I have to know what’s up with all this.” She gestured around the hotel. “A little nice for your standards, I believe.”

How she knew exactly where he was staying, Erik didn’t bother to ask. Instead, he stood to get the remains of the wine and a second glass from the cabinet. “You didn’t come to mooch off me?” She accepted the glass he held out to her, and Erik filled it halfway. Once he sat down, he did the same to his own glass, finishing off the bottle.

She took a sip. “Of course not! If I wanted to do that, I would go to the winery itself and get top quality.”

Erik rolled his eyes, but his mood lifted a bit. “Why you work for me instead of live in the lap of luxury, I will never understand.”

“Yes, considering my name, it is a little ironic, I guess.” She smoothed out the dress that most men would be struggling not to ogle. “But I’m serious, Erik, are you alright?”

The correct answer would have been “Of course,” but the thoughts in his buzzed mind were all skewed. What came out instead made him want to punch himself. “Some old memories ambushed me earlier. The kind of thing you’d want to drink away.”

She nodded. “The holidays do that to some people. Constantly reminding them just how lonely they are.”

Erik bit back a reply, but she wasn’t waiting for one. “And when people get lonely, they get desperate for company. I wanted to ask you why—or rather, _how_ —did you leave that bar without someone on your arm?”

A pang of suspicion brought Erik back into focus. He searched her eyes for something amiss, but found only curiosity. He sighed. “You only know about lust, isn’t that right?”

Luxuria eyed him just as carefully. “Yes, I understand it better than anything. I know you felt it tonight, looking at that man. But why didn’t you take advantage of him? Believe me, he wanted you to.”

Setting aside the fact Luxuria had obviously been stalking him, the conversation was going down a dangerous road. “Did he?” Erik evaded.

The woman didn’t catch on, and looked a little relieved Erik said something she understood. “Oh yes. And he wasn’t the only one.” She leaned forward like she was clueing him in on an exciting secret. “You’re interesting, Erik Lehnsherr. You see, what I’ve learned about _people_ and what I know about _you_ are so different that I still find myself falling back on tricks I should know by now won’t work.”

There it was— _she knows things_. Erik held her gaze. “You’ve been playing tricks on me?”

She laughed again, but to Erik’s surprise, it was a distinctly different kind. It sounded genuine. “Not exactly. I just keep forgetting that you aren’t one to be swayed by flattery or good looks or my chest. I know playing tricks would never go over well with you. What I really mean is that you don’t fit the typical mold of a lustful person. And that mold is the one I know how to manipulate best.”

Erik wondered if she was telling the truth—or if he would care if she wasn’t. Either way, the longer he listened to Luxuria, the longer he felt convinced that she was more ignorant than he thought. “Mold of a lustful person? I don’t know that that is.” But why not humor her?

“It’s not a tight mold,” she began. “It fits nearly everyone. The people I expect not to fit are those who don’t feel lust at all, but you definitely do.” Her wine glass was empty, so she stood and went to open a new bottle. “Hope this stuff isn’t too expensive. Anyway, if people feel lust, they always act on it somehow. Fuck their spouse, fuck their mistress, their lover, hire someone, pick up someone, watch porn, read porn, go to some club.” Once she poured herself a new glass, she placed the bottle on the small coffee table between them and sat down. “Daydream, get addicted to something. Some people, unfortunately, do things much worse. But everyone copes somehow.”

Erik glanced down at his glass. “I seem to fit the mold so far.”

“You don’t drink often,” she said with a wave of her hand. ”And even when you _do_ , you don’t think about—” Erik went stiff and she redirected. “You manage to shove it all away. I don’t think I’ve never known someone so successful at repressing lust, Erik Lehnsherr. You are an impressive man.” Her eyes were dark in the shadows of the room. She leaned forward.

“I think you deserve a reprieve, don’t you? It’s vacation, after all.” She paused. “All the wine in the world won’t make your memories of him go away.”

Erik knew that. He also knew what she was getting at now. He _also_ knew he should kick her out before he started to actually kick her. Instead, Erik stared out the window at the city lights. “I don’t deserve anything like that,” he muttered.

“You do, though. And aren’t you a little worried, anyway, that everything buried inside you will crack open? Ruining what you have going?”

He scowled at her. “I’m not so undisciplined to let _lust_ of all things interfere with what I do.”

“Of course.” She scooted to the edge of her chair eagerly. “No, the problem is you’re _too_ disciplined. So disciplined that it’s only a matter of time before you sabotage yourself.”

Erik was obviously furious with her, but Luxuria remained unfazed. Her voice rose with confidence as she said, “I believe you have it the wrong way. I do know. I may not know the history between you and him perfectly, and I may not know about all the other parasitic emotions I strongly suspect you latch to his memory, but I do know that there is so much lust and longing that I would bet just the sight of him could take you down _right now_.”

Erik’s hand rose before he could think, and for the first time in his life his human instincts were quicker than his mutant ones. Forgetting metal completely, he backhanded her so hard she fell out of the chair. Part of his mind deafened with shock at what he had done, but the rest of it was still irate. He closed his eyes, desperate to reorient himself out of the anger and confusion and dizziness.

But when he opened them again, he lost all sense of direction.

The Charles Xavier of less than two years ago—the Charles Xavier drugged powerless, the Charles Xavier of that horrible, horrible flight to Paris—sat up on the floor, holding his face.

Erik couldn’t make himself flee the room, as much as he wanted then to flee the _country_. Spectacularly blue eyes met his, and Charles said, “That was a hard hit, my friend.”

It was all a trick. It was all a sick game played by a sick woman. Erik knew that. He had always known this was possible. He knew all this, but…

There were no bruises, but Charles— _Luxuria_ —looked in pain. She tried to stand and stumbled. He reached out to steady hi—her, unable to tear his eyes away from Charles’s face.

It was full of a different kind of pain from the physical. It was the pain Erik remembered seeing in his eyes at their sorry reunion in the prison.

Then Charles was drenched head to toe, right there in the hotel room. Erik had no time to think before he was punched square in the jaw. His mind instantly warred with images of killing Luxuria on the spot and of the last time Charles punched him, soaking wet.

Erik was quick to get back to his feet, and he felt more awake. Luxuria had nothing else to work with; there was nothing else to the memory that she could throw at him. But when Erik stepped forward to make a move, Charles’s angry, indignant expression crumbled into sorrow.

Charles brought a hand up to his eyes, rubbing them of water or tears or both. “I’m sorry, Erik. I just needed to get that out of my system. I’m still angry at you, but God,” his voice broke, “I missed you.” And then he stepped closer and hugged Erik as hard as he could.

Erik stood still, staring ahead. He was unable to push away; his mind was overloaded with the sensation of _touch_ and the thought _this isn’t how it went._ The contact felt so painful, so perfect, that it roused even deeper memories, ones long locked away.

He remembered when Charles unlocked a memory once, called it beautiful.

Charles pulled away from him. This time there was no hint of water on either of them. Charles's hair was shorter, and his was face clean-shaven. His eyes held Erik’s captive. “I missed you,” Charles said again, softer. “And I love you.” He smile turned bashful. “But you know that, right?”

Charles leaned up and pressed his lips softly against Erik’s, hands warm on his face.

Erik kissed Charles back. It was too much to resist; it was all he wanted right then. A voice nagged at the far back of his mind, but he ignored it.

His hands found Charles’s waist and suddenly Erik felt alive. Alive, like he was back at the mansion, facing the satellite, watching it move at his will. Alive, facing Charles, hoping that the love he saw in those amazing eyes was not just a reflection of his own. Alive, in love, but they never…Charles never said…

 _This isn’t how it went._ The nagging voice grew louder. _This isn’t how it went._

Erik’s wits returned to him as sharp as the snap of a band. He pushed Luxuria away and melted off a piece of the bed’s the metal framing. With it, he slammed her against the wall by her neck, her wrists, her ankles.

She turned back into her regular from grinning and breathing heavily. Erik stuck a shard of metal under her chin. “What is wrong with you? How dare you treat me like this when I’ve nothing but help you.”

“And now _I’m_ helping _you_ ,” she said without a hint of remorse. “I’ve just proven to you that I’m right. Charles Xavier does affect you. I could have killed you at any time just now and it would have been easy.” The word was a taunt. “ _Easy_ , Erik. You have a gaping hole of a weakness that could kill you!”

It took every ounce of restraint not to kill _her_.

“Listen to me,” she said. “Now you’ll be more prepared if anyone throws something like this at you. You won’t be so off your game.”

“No one would have known to _throw_ this at me besides you.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Maybe that’s true. Maybe it isn’t. There are a lot of shapeshifters out there, and a lot of people who wouldn’t need much incentive to dig into your past to ruin you. I just know that you despise weakness in yourself and this is your greatest one. I would have done this sooner, but if you trusted me any less than you do, you might have killed me before I had a chance to really help.”

“You think I don't know?” Erik asked, ignoring her rambling. “Do you really believe I don’t know what my weaknesses are? Because that would be very foolish of you.”

Luxuria shook her head. “You think it’s something you can’t eliminate, so you ignore it, and it gets worse. Last year you would never have wallowed in a wine bottle alone in a fancy hotel room. You would never have spoken to anyone, let alone me, about Charles Xavier, no matter how drunk you were. You would never have let me live for playing you like this.” Her infamous stare made Erik feel like _he_ was the one trapped on the wall. “Look where you are now.”

Erik understood the irony of keeping her alive even as she gave him more reason to slice her throat. Luxuria was right; he wouldn’t have hesitated to punish someone for something as obscene and defiant as this before. He was not known for holding back when he was angry. But the shard at her neck didn’t even pierce skin.

“You have to admit you have a problem, Erik.”

“I don’t have to admit anything.”

“That doesn’t make your weakness any less real.”

He couldn’t reply.

Luxuria’s voice was placating when she said, “Think about how good you felt when you kissed him. Imagine how much stronger, how much _better_ you would feel without the misery of loneliness weighing you down every single day?”

“I have never kissed him in my life,” Erik said. “Certainly not tonight.”

“Does it matter? You felt better anyway.”

Erik’s hands clenched. “You think if I have a replacement, I’ll feel any less alone?”

Her expression turned sympathetic. “Maybe not in the way you want, but you’ll be getting more of what you—”

“Need,” Erik finished. “Are you kidding me?”

“I guarantee you would feel better, _work_ better, if you got some of that weakening _need_ out of your system. As you are well aware, I can make that guarantee.”

Erik let the metal fall to the floor. “Get out, or I’ll drag you.”

When Luxuria reached the door, she looked back at him. “Don’t let pride keep you from calling me when you change your mind.”

Then she was Charles again, and not a version Erik was familiar with.

“This is what I look like today,” she said in Charles’s voice. “I know you wonder.”

Erik stared at the door long after it closed. The figure he had seen there was branded in his mind. _Charles, today._ He was bald, yes, but there was a maturity to his face Erik hadn’t seen before. A stronger set to his shoulders, a different way he held his head that boasted genuine confidence. He was beautiful in a way only someone with the first marks of age can be. Erik knew Luxuria didn’t leave any details out; that wasn’t her style. She even captured the exact shade of blue of Charles’s eyes. Erik doubted even Raven could have done that.

Somehow, seeing the Charles of the present hurt more than everything else. It reminded Erik of just how far apart they were, how unlikely it was they would see each other again, if things stayed the way they were.

Erik always told himself, whenever he got the absurd urge to seek Charles out, that he would only be rejected, if not thrown in jail by the X-heroes. As far as he knew, Charles still hadn’t forgiven him, and even if he did, they were irrevocable rivals, weren’t they? Enemies. Some even would say nemeses.

What usually steered him back on track was the reminder that seeing Charles would only create a more painful loneliness once they inevitably parted again.

Slowly, Erik sat back down in one of the armchairs. The moment he tried to sort his thoughts, the kiss invaded his mind’s eye. That whole moment did. His hands had never felt so magnetic than they did sliding around Charles’s waist. He’d wanted so long to—

A crushing weight fell on him: _Twelve years and all I’ve done is kiss an imposter._

The pocket of bliss that was his introduction to Charles Xavier had not been long enough to do anything about what he felt. There hadn’t been enough time to rethink his larger goals—only to fall back on them when things became too much.

Like letting go of Shaw, his identification. Too much. Like letting go of his vengeance, his purpose. Too much. His own power slicing someone who should have never been scratched, in only a moment. Far, far too much to face.

So he escaped the new and overwhelming dissonance by reaffirming the old and familiar.

Erik had asked himself more than once: was parting ways in Cuba worth it? And he always thought, yes, it was the only way. But now he didn’t know what to think.

Then there was the year after that, the struggle to put together what would soon be his greatest achievement. Then the ten years in prison where Erik strengthened his beliefs and abilities even without metal in the immediate vicinity. Ten years of little to do except play the occasional game of chess and pretend Charles was opposite him, smiling like he didn’t need to read a person’s mind to know his thoughts, yet unwittingly leaving Erik to suffer the constant haze of fright and fascination an unfamiliarity on his own.

A naive, ignorant, tactless man. And a trustworthy, brilliant, selfless one, too.

Then the day of escape…

Erik damned Luxuria for reminding him of that day, but he felt a swell of warmth inside him at the same time. He might have gone a little crazy from being in a hole for ten years, but Erik remembered thinking the reunion was an omen; after all, he had emerged from the cell to see the very thing he most wanted to see.

But as far as Erik could tell, if it had been an omen, it hadn’t been for anything good.

The time between departing from Washington with Charles and leaving Charles back in Washington felt like no more than a moment to Erik now. He damned _himself_ for not savoring the time he had right next to him. Right _next_ to Charles.

In a hotel room on the other side of the nation, Erik knew the idea of being next to him again was preposterous. What had they come to? What had _he_ come to?

Wasn’t that Luxuria’s point?

Erik tried to separate the useful information from the useless emotion. Luxuria was convinced he had become weak, or at least too vulnerable. His first reaction was to disagree, but what if she was right about the benefits of addressing loneliness? What did he have to lose, anyway? It wasn’t as if he could ever have the real thing.

The places his thoughts were taking him made Erik feel sick. Sick with anxiety, anticipation, and…damn her again.

Lust.

 

 

Five months later, Erik Lehnsherr found himself in the best worst place in his life. Or perhaps the worst best place. Either way, every moment of every day meant ecstasy or all-consuming guilt.

He had taken Luxuria up on her offer.

Erik looked out at the Manhattan skyline. It was long past sunset. He hadn’t been to the New York office in over a year. The place was still clean, but stale somehow. His desk was as spartan as ever, and the furniture looked still looked brand new even though it was all as old as the lease.

Never in a thousand years did Erik think he would feel almost as he did when he was with Shaw. Trapped, scared, dirty. Powerless, most of all. No matter how much physical force he exerted, it could do nothing to influence the situation. Like Shaw had once been, Luxuria was untouchable.

At least, she was when she wore Charles’s skin, which was almost all the time in Erik’s presence. He found it impossible to hurt her then, and the one time he had become violent, she played dead. She played dead as Charles Xavier, and—pathetic low-blow that it was—Erik knew he couldn’t bear to see anything so petrifying again.

From that moment on, Luxuria became bolder; she realized she was safe to do as she liked, so long as she kept up her facade. She loved to play with fire, but also kept it well within her control. Erik realized he was finally getting a first-hand experience of her “methods,” her capability, her success. It was easy to see why she never failed at her tasks if she got a hold on her prey.

The door opened and someone entered the office.

“Hey. Are you ready to go?”

Even in the dim lighting, Charles looked striking. It was him when he was fresh out of undergrad. Erik had tried to convince Luxuria once or twice that he didn’t like Charles so young, but she just laughed Charles’s laugh and they both knew it wasn’t true.

When Erik didn’t move from his spot by the desk, Charles approached him. Young eyes, young body, all well into the progression from pretty to handsome. Erik had no idea what was accurate and what was an enhancement of Luxuria’s: Charles’s hair was darker and softer, his lips redder, his eyes especially innocent, but still the precisely right shade of blue.

Charles didn’t hesitate to get right up in Erik's personal space. Erik didn’t stop hands from resting on his chest, eyes from boring into his own, a grin from tearing down any reservations Erik might have had—which he didn't; he stopped bothering with them months ago.

“Let’s go.” A perfect smile to top the rest off.

It had been a dismal day in New York. Constant rain mixed with grouchy Brothers complaining about their disrespectful new apprentices. Erik reminded all of them that they had chosen which sniveling kids to take under their real and metaphorical wings, not him. Maybe it was the news of the murder of a prominent mutant leader in Brazil that had them uptight, or the election of three new anti-mutant bigots into Congress.

They all had done so much, but would it ever be enough? That question alone was sufficient reason for everyone to be on edge.

Erik took Charles home.

At the beginning, five months ago, Erik resolved to see Luxuria as _Luxuria,_ no matter the body. He laid down a dozen rules for himself, two dozen affirmations, three dozen justifications.

But it wasn’t long before Luxuria prevailed in turning all those things to ashes. Eventually, Erik realized it would so much better if he just forgot about Luxuria, his situation, _their_ situation altogether when he and “Charles” were intimate. It would be better if he let himself believe it was real sometimes and not think too deeply about how wrong everything actually was.

There was only one rule that Erik had managed to hold onto. Luxuria was _never_ to shift into the present-day Charles Xavier.

Other than that, there was little Erik reprimanded her for. He failed to call her out on quoting actual things Charles used to say, on impersonating his quirks freakishly well, on sexualizing him more than was appropriate. But then again, nothing about Luxuria’s offer was appropriate anyway.

Not once did Erik fall asleep between leaving the office and watching Charles pass out exhausted in bed, but somehow he felt as if he woke up when the clock ticked to midnight.Charles’s arm was wrapped around him; his face was close. Erik’s thoughts were completely detached from the contentment he felt in his body.

How did Luxuria manage to act so genuine? Did she enjoy sex so much? Or did she just enjoy the trickery, the manipulation, the complete…

Power, of course. How had he forgotten?

What did it feel like, to have complete power over one of the most influential men in the mutant world? Was she used to things like that or did it never get old for her? Did _she_ ever get old? Erik had never seen any signs of aging, but then again, Luxuria had complete control over her appearance, just like she had complete control over so many other things.

Erik wasn’t stupid enough to say he wasn’t one of them.

In only five months, she’d talked him out of a fight and into a few; she’d gotten him involved in world politics more than he ever planned; she’d maneuvered him out of a situation where Erik’s ego probably would have killed him. All with just with a few perfect nights, a few perfect words, and a hundred moments Erik never imagined he’d ever get to experience—however fraudulent. By wrapping her arms around his neck and laying her head on his shoulder, using the voice he wanted to hear to say the things he didn’t, she got her way.

Erik climbed carefully out of bed and into the living room of his small, twenty-first floor apartment. He turned on the television and set it on low volume. Nothing like trash to turn the mind to other things.

Unhelpfully, it was set to the news reruns, and before Erik could change the channel, he saw the guest was none other than Dr. Charles Xavier.

“—tragedy for the X-Men, mutantkind, and the United States.”

Behind Charles, on a screen in the news studio, was the image of a stately African-American woman. She had shoulder-length black hair and wore a navy-blue suit jacket. The headline on Erik’s television read: _New Mutant Congresswoman Murdered with Anti-Mutant Father._ Under that: _X-Men member Janine Templeton shot dead in home; misidentified as part of family’s anti-mutant activism._

“She loved her real family just as much as she loved her family with the X-Men,” Charles continued. “Her father never disowned her, and that meant a lot to her. She told me many times how, because he still loved her back, she believed he could see sense one day. She never gave up on him.”

The interviewer leaned forward and asked, “If she worked with you, why do you think she was suspected of being part of the anti-mutant cause in the first place?”

Charles pressed his lips together. Even through the glass, Erik could feel his pain.

“That’s that thing. She wasn’t out as an X-Men member yet. She hadn’t told her family, let alone the pubic. Even though mutants have been elected to office before, an X-man has not. She was afraid she would bring undue controversy and strain to the X-Men as she campaigned. I didn’t want her to keep it a secret—none of us who knew her identity did—but she was also afraid her family wouldn’t be as proud of her achievement, should she win, if they thought she won it _because_ she was a part of the X-Men. It was up to her, in the end, of course.”

“But she’s been outed as a member now, by your own people.”

“I’m not sure how to feel about that,” Charles said, with the least genuine smile Erik had ever seen on him. “Those who knew her well were so furious that it just…” he held up one hand, “came out to everyone who knew her, then to the entirety of the X-Men, then the press.” He shrugged. “It’s unfortunate that her identity hadn’t come to light on her terms, but I can’t say I’m unhappy that the world knows now who she really was. A wonderful, open-minded person.”

“What exactly did she do with the X-Men if she wasn’t one publicly?”

“Well, she—”

The voices faded as Erik’s attention began to pinpoint on the woman’s face. He didn’t know her, but he knew her father. Rather, his name: Harry Templeton. A man Luxuria had offhandedly mentioned in a list of half a dozen other names. Part of a cult, she said. A particularly violent rally group? Something awful that clearly warranted action in Luxuria’s eyes. With everything else going on, Erik thought nothing of it. Luxuria had become an effective leader—she could handle herself and make smart decisions.

Or not. As Erik watched the news story, it became clear that either Luxuria was behind it, or one of her idolizing followers. Miraculously, the Brotherhood only came up once.

“Her father was known to be pretty involved in several anti-mutant groups,” the interviewer said, “and it’s not clear who’s behind the shooting yet, so there are theories that the Brotherhood is behind it, since anti-mutant groups and their leaders are their most common targets. Do you think they had something to do with it? They are the X-Men’s rivals, after all.”

“No.”

And Charles evaded every question about the Brotherhood after that.

Erik rose from the couch, entered the kitchen, and hunched over the sink. He thought of who he just fucked, and gagged.

After a few deep breaths, Erik tried to clear his mind. When he unplugged the television with a jerk of his hand, he accidentally pulled the chord out of the television itself, too. The whole thing crashed to the floor, but Erik continued to stare into the sink. When he finally turned around, Charles was there.

Erik was so dazed that for a moment he thought the Charles was real, come straight from the Washington news station to tell him that he knew Erik was guilty, that it didn’t matter whose gun killed Janine Templeton. Erik was still ultimately responsible.

Then Erik saw, as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, that Luxuria had broken his one and only rule. She was who Erik had just seen a moment ago, sans the wheelchair.

“It’s like he said. Nobody knew she was X-Men.” Her imitation of Charles’s tone was off. It completely lacked the empathy that rang clear in the voice from the television.

“She was a mutant,” Erik muttered.

“We thought she was on his side. Plenty of mutants are. Harry Templeton was as anti-mutant as it gets. Since she hadn’t left him, then what else could she be besides _with_ him?”

“His daughter.” Erik’s voice was no louder than a whisper.

Luxuria laughed. “Obviously. And if she was continuing to be, all the more reason to think she was an apple that hadn’t fallen very far.” She stepped closer, twisting Charles’s face into an uncharacteristic grimace. “I don’t regret what I did. I don’t care if she felt like she _owed_ her father for not disowning her—it's ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous to want to hold onto family, Luxuria.”

She failed to hide her shock at the address. Erik had never done that while she was in Charles’s form.

“It’s ridiculous to hold to someone so pathetic,” she said. “I teamed up with you because you didn’t believe in ‘they know not what they do.’ That woman knew perfectly well the risk of hanging around scum like that. She didn’t even have the guts to say she was an X-bitch; she had it coming.”

Erik recalled several times other Brothers got on Luxuria’s bad side. All it took was one disagreement and her claws were out. Only when they bowed to her will again did she calm down.

It was time Erik to stop doing the same.

“I told you not to look like that,” Erik said, gesturing to her.

She walked closer, blue eyes bright. “Oh, did you? That’s right, because you’re scared of him.” Another step. “What if you had done it? Killed her?” Closer. “Think of his face the moment he found out. This face.”

She certainly looked heartbroken, but it was all wrong. Erik knew all too well what heartbroken looked like on Charles. He felt like he’d seen it countless times.

At every death, friend or foe or stranger. At every cold face-off after the parting in Washington. On the plane to Paris, apparent from take-off to landing. When Shaw dangled out of the submarine lifeless, with Erik following it, heartless. In the newspaper, on television. In the tears dripping onto the sand, like a manifestation.

Heartbreak was always somewhere in Charles, sometimes only where Erik could see. Only Erik, because he was the the biggest contributor. 

Luxuria placed a hand on Erik’s shoulder. “I think I was wrong.”

Erik waited, itching to push the hand away.

“I thought getting used to him, overcoming the loneliness, would make you stronger. It works for almost everyone else.” She put her other hand on his arm. “But, I should have remembered, you are not like everyone else, and there are, after all, some people who grow weaker and more vulnerable instead.”

“Why is that?”

“How should I know? It certainly has nothing to do with lust. Perhaps it’s because the desire was never about power in the first place. Figuratively or physically.” She shook her head. “So hard to relate.”

“I could have told you that a while ago.”

“I doubt it. How could you admit to what you don’t know yourself?”

Erik scowled. “What are you trying to say?”

She just stepped closer, until they were almost flush against each other. The kitchen counter kept Erik from stepping back. He focused on keeping his cool.

Luxuria shifted to the unshaven Charles, the angry Charles. “I’ve been the true leader of the Brotherhood for months, and to be honest, I even didn’t plan it that way. But just this body and little blue wink and I have all your power, just like that. It’s like you don’t even want it.”

Erik was losing his patience quickly. “Your poi—”

A finger pressed hard into his ribcage. “Don’t you listen to yourself? _Daughters, family, holding on, don’t look like that, Luxuria!_ You’re nothing but a child. I’m a fool for not seeing that earlier, but you’re a fool for deluding yourself your whole life. You are a lonely child, desperate for someone who will accept you and hold onto you and never let go. I only knew the lust, saw the love, but I know now it was different kind of need altogether that broke you in that hotel. That kept you at my feet ever since then.”

Even though Erik’s heart was beating at top speed, his voice was even. “What need would that be?”

Luxuria smiled, and for a moment, it was _her_ smile even though it wasn’t her mouth. But then she shifted into the Charles at the mansion, and her smile turned beautifully genuine—wide and bright, with blue eyes sparkling and joyful just for Erik.

Rage and serenity. Just them.

“Hope, of course.” She leaned in and kissed him on the jaw. “Every moment he’s with you, in whatever form, is a moment of childish hope.”

Erik remained still, but he lifted something in the living room.

She kissed his cheek and it was all Erik could do not to melt the kitchen completely. “Just the sight of him causes some ridiculous response in you—these unspoken maybes I can see in your eyes: Maybe he’ll finally understand; maybe he’ll take me back; maybe he’ll forgive me.”

_Maybe you should have fought harder for them._

Erik kept his eyes on her even as the ripped television chord floated into the kitchen.

“How do you have time to even think about sex?” Luxuria asked, smirking. “Now that I’m looking for these insecurities, I can practically see them radiating off of you. I should have knocked you down ages ago and save myself the hassle. I could have; I realize that now.”

She kissed his neck. “Your lust…and love…and hope…and fear are so tangled, Erik. There are so many endless maybes that I can string together from it all: Maybe he’ll refuse to go when I tell him; maybe he’ll stay forever; maybe everything will be fine.” Luxuria sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “Oh, Erik, you confused child. Charles Xavier isn’t your mother or father. He isn’t morally _obligated_ to fight for you. He’s in love with you. He’s morally obligated to let you go should either of you see fit. And he did. So if you’re in love, as you’ve lead me to believe, you have to either let go now or give in to me forever. It’s too late to do much else; if you wanted the real Charles, you should have fought harder for him when you had the chance.”

The second the chord wrapped around her neck, she shifted to her womanly self again. She didn’t have time to say more before Erik jerked the chord up and hanged her. No point in drawing it out.

 

 

He expected a hanging of his own for his crimes, but apparently the authorities didn’t do that much anymore. They said he would get a trial, but seemed stumped about where to put him in the meantime. It was Erik Lehnsherr himself who recommended his old, custom cell in the Pentagon. His assurances that no one would help him escape this time didn’t seem to assure anyone, but there was no better option immediately available.

When he turned himself in, all he asked was that the world know he played no part in the murder of Janine Templeton. The world obliged, even though the rest of his criminal record was mercilessly plastered all over the news for weeks surrounding the time of his conviction.

He expected life, but received a sentencing that shocked him. In a good way, fortunately.

A week or so after his arrest, a dozen men and women in fatigues, uniforms, and suits came to see him asking all kinds of questions about Luxuria. They confided little about why they were asking, but Erik told them everything he knew anyway. Of course, he didn’t mention his less-than-professional relationship with her.

It was something to do with a mutant gene project, humunc—somethings. Erik didn’t care. All he absorbed was the fact that they all were essentially thanking him for breaking her neck, and that he would be rewarded accordingly.

The trial was kept strictly under-the-radar. Thanks to Luxuria’s “capture,” as everyone called it, he was sentenced to only twenty years. He was paroled after a mere three. The government needed his cell for some other sketchy reason, and they seemed to like the idea of getting Magneto out of sight and out of mind. The parole was deserved, anyhow; in his home away from home, Erik hadn’t so much as told an officer off once. Twice.

Younger and more emotionally-intelligent Brothers ran the show in his absence. They were effective, less bold and brash. As time went on, the X-Men became less intrusive and obnoxious. New global issues cropped up; anti-mutant advocates lost influence and prominence. Some mutations even became fashionable and envied—to Erik’s utter annoyance. The world went on as it tended to do.

The three years went by slowly. Erik had too much time to reflect on what Luxuria said the day she died; he had too little space to outrun his thoughts. But when he was released, he felt as if he never served time at all.

Erik remembered thinking the reunion was an omen; after all, he emerged from the cell to see the very thing he most wanted to see.

And as far as Erik could tell, it was the best omen of his life.

 

 

Epilogue (Crack!):

“You fucked me when I was still at university!?”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. She just _looked_ —”

“No, no, I do. I just think it’s profoundly unfair.”

“Un…? I thought you would be disgusted.”

“No, and I wouldn’t have been in uni, either.”

“Oh?”

“It would have been a brilliant teacher-student scenario, of course. Think about it.”

“Hardly brilliant, I would have been a terrible teacher.”

“That wouldn't have mattered, obviously.”

“Obviously? You would have hated me.”

“Do you really not get what I'm saying?”

“I would have failed you on purpose, and you would have hated me.”

“But none of that would apply to the _scenario_ , Erik.”

“What?”

"You're just as hopeless as she said, you know.”


End file.
